Page 30 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

ARLET

N ight drapes over Dragon’s Reach, cloaking the city in a fading purple light that I watch from the window in our room.

Every muscle in my body protests as I shift on the narrow bed. My joints are stiff and my arms are sore from the dragon training earlier. The dragons had been magnificent to watch, but the hours spent learning the correct posture and balance on the practice saddles left me feeling like I’d been wrung out and left to dry.

The only thing that stirs me is Vann. I stealthily sneak glances at the way his muscles tense while he polishes his weapon, and the intense focus he applies to each swipe.

It’s not good for my heart, but I can’t stop thinking about our almost-kiss.

This morning, I’d been ready to avoid him forever. But his hands had been on me the entire time we were in the mountains.

It had been sweet. And I can’t seem to let that go.

A knock sounds at the door.

Vann, who has been working on polishing his blade, stands and answers the sound. An elven woman with copper-brown skin waits on the other side of the entrance to our room, smiling .

“Hello,” I call, standing up to slip on my shoes as Vann says something in elvish.

“We’ve been asked to assist you in preparation for tonight’s feast,” the woman says in accented common tongue. I'm surprised to hear another person other than Theren speaking it here—this place seems extremely secluded. "I will present you with your new clothes. And then I will take you to the royal bathing pools."

The door creaks open further, revealing a second person, a tall elf with braided hair woven through with thin chains of silver. His eyes, sharp and pale green, flick to me, then to Vann.

“We are ready when you are,” he says.

“Thank you,” Vann says with a bow. “Enter, please.”

Both elves step inside, and the man, carrying a stack of fabric, dips his head. The scent of fresh fabric and mountain herbs wafts toward me as his bundle is set on the table.

Vann gestures me over, and I help him untie the twine, peeling back the waxed paper to reveal deep emerald-green fabric embroidered with silver thread.

I hold up the bodice of my dress. The material is heavy and smooth beneath my fingers. It’s the kind of garment I'd seen worn by nobles. Beside it lies a matching tunic and pants, more utilitarian but no less exquisite.

"Not exactly a subtle gown,” I say.

Vann huffs. "Elves aren't known for their subtlety."

The words draw a smile from me.

I trace the stitching along the hem—a pattern of curling wings and jagged cliffs.

“We can leave when you are ready,” Vann says, standing quickly.

I nod. “Let’s go now.”

Picking up my new clothes, Vann and I follow the elves out of the room.

Together, the servants lead us through the winding halls, past narrow windows that spill pale moonlight across the polished stone floors.

We stop at a branching hallway. The elf gestures to me. "You will go that way."

Vann frowns. "Separately? We are married.”

Butterflies take flight in my belly. He wants to bathe with me?

"The pools are divided," the elf explains. "It is our custom."

I hesitate, glancing at Vann, who gives me a small nod. His hand brushes my forearm as I pass. Heat snakes over my body.

It’s so sudden, I can’t contain it. Nor can I stop myself wishing he would come into my pool anyway. And… I shouldn’t think of that right now.

"Don't drown," he says softly.

I bite my lip. “I’ll try my best."

He sets off in one direction, and I continue alone down a narrower hall. Soon, the servant and I reach an arched doorway. Steam seeps from the crack at the bottom, carrying the scent of minerals and mint.

The door opens to reveal a cavernous bathing chamber, its walls carved from polished stone. Veins of luminescent ore snake through the rock, casting a soft glow over the steaming pools below.

A wave of homesickness takes over and I ache for Enduvida, or maybe, just Vann.

I shouldn’t have asked about Adra.

The woman who had come to our door enters first. I descend the steps after her as she sorts through small vials of liquid. Her ears are long and pierced with several rings, each etched with delicate symbols of dragons and flames.

“You prefer me to call you Lord Vann’s wife?” she asks.

"Just Arlet," I correct.

She gives me a sheepish smile as if she doesn’t fully understand, so I drop the matter and smile back. She gestures to the nearest pool.

I step forward, removing my tunic and trousers with only a moment's hesitation. The water is blissfully hot as I lower myself in. Once submerged, I hiss as it soothes my aching limbs. My hair floats around me, and copper waves curling like tendrils of fire in the clear water fan out under my chin.

The woman kneels beside me on the ledge and pours something sweet, berry-scented concoction into the water. She bows her head and busies herself with bottles of soap, and then she stands .

“I will return soon.”

When she leaves, I press my hand to my neck and think. Wearing a pretty dress tended to make me giddy. But I don’t feel that right now. My relationship with Vann grows more complicated every day.

First, we avoided each other. Then we were friends. He followed me out of Enduvida.

Somewhere along the way, I started to feel safer at his side—started to imagine things in his presence. Perhaps it was the fact that travel is hard and I’d been so long without sexual affection, either alone or with someone else. In Enduvida, when tension coiled inside me, I had privacy.

Perfect stories. I liked reading about people falling in love, and a natural part of that was intimacy. The chase. The pull.

Safety has always been an important factor in my attraction.

Vann had mentioned reading one of my scrolls once.

My already hot skin pulses. He’d teased me, but there was heat behind it.

Some people could reduce the stories to scandalous words, but they were so much more for me.

It would be hard to explain to someone who hadn’t experienced it, but replacing old, scarred memories with new ones—better ones—is how I heal.

Yes, being tied up led to one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.

But the truth was, I’d enjoyed those things before. And finding a story with that included that made me feel like I wasn’t alone—wasn’t broken.

The words made me feel like… if I tried it again, I could move on.

It didn’t have to be about reliving sorrows. It could be about control. Safety.

Trust.

I didn’t think it was wrong to want to experience that in a different way, with the right person.

Sometimes, I think so much about being a mother and motherhood, I forget the part of me that desires.

And Vann… well he couldn’t be my mate. That title had been gi ven to another. But I wondered if he could be the person I let myself explore with.

I soak until the heat dissolves the tension from my muscles and I’m able to scrub the sweat and dirt from my skin. But as I rub the wash rag over my arms and neck, my mind continues to spin.

When the cloth used for scrubbing scrapes over my nipple, I gasp.

Looking around, I don’t see anyone near. The maid certainly hasn’t returned.

A part of me is cautious, as I’m not sure when she will, and there is a festival to attend. But, the curse and the possession felt far away. In fact, we were closer than ever to breaking it.

I need this.

So I lean back, bracing myself against one of the stones. I use the cloth to scrape over my breasts and my wrists lightly.

Then I venture lower, and let myself do something I’d tried hard to avoid. I picture Vann.

I close my eyes, and pretend that the cloth was really his calloused hand. When I stroke over my lower belly, I shiver.

My cunt clenches and floods with heat.

“Vann,” I murmur as I delicately rub the rough cloth against the sensitive bundle of nerves above my sex.

The skin on my neck and cheeks flushes and I swallow thickly.

It feels good.

I think of him, holding me so I can’t move. So I have no choice but to give into his affection. When I imagine a ghost of his breath across my neck, whispering sweet words, I cry out and come.

I clamp my damp hand over my mouth.

Fuck.

That was loud. And fast.

I run my finger through my hair, panting. It’d been too long. I should’ve…

Steps echo in the hallway.

“Lady Arlet?” the servant calls out. “May I enter?”

“Yes,” I say, voice high. I try to hide the meager evidence of what I’d done, as she comes in .

I help myself out of the pool, and she uses a cloth to dry my body. I stop her at one point, preferring not to be touched right now.

She seems confused, but helps me with my hair. She dries it with a brush and towel, and then starts braiding.

“I didn’t take too long, right?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Everything is all right. I am here to take care of our guest.”

The plait she crafts gets twisted into a crown that coils atop my head. Then she helps me into the dress, and the sleeves are so long they nearly touch the floor. The leather slippers mold to my feet perfectly.

“Thank you,” I say to the maid.

She reaches out, tapping the freckles on my cheeks. “You are an interesting beauty. I think your husband will be pleased.”

She dips her head, and then I leave, feeling unsettled, not just because of what I’d done, but also because of how I look. The sun had made my spots more apparent.

Vann had once told me he liked them, but was that still the case as they stood out more and more?

It doesn’t take long to be guided away from the pools, and I exit feeling wholly exposed. I rub the spot between my brows. What had I been thinking in there?

The warm water just made me feel so… desirable. Loose.

I am starving for affection.

Vann clears his throat, and I look up. The sight of him makes me stop mid-step. He's wearing the emerald tunic, its deep color setting off the silver of his hair and the blue of his skin. The fabric clings to his broad frame, and the silver embroidery at the collar catches the moonlight like frost.

His gaze sweeps over me, and heat flushes my skin. Images skitter over my mind, brought to life by the recent memory of my moment in the bath.

My core feels hollow, aching. For some reason, once I started to think about this, I couldn’t stop.

His smile spreads and I can’t breathe. I picture him picking me up, and carrying me somewhere to yank up my dress, expose my hot sex to the air and fill me to bursting. The…

“How lovely you are, Firelocks,” he says gently.

What. The. Hell. Is going on?

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I force my mind to stop picturing things. “You are too.”

His eyes linger a moment longer before he holds out his arm. I take it, letting him guide me through the terrace doors and down a long, winding hallway.

At last, we exit the hallway and find ourselves in front of a structure built into the largest cliff. Its doors are reinforced with intricate carvings of dragons.

The guards on either side pull open the doors, revealing a grand hall bathed in flickering torchlight.

My senses are just as overwhelmed as my heart at the sight.

Long tables line the walls, laden with platters of roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and twisted breads shaped like dragons mid-flight. Musicians play in the far corner, their instruments unfamiliar. Some use thin, reed-like flutes that trill like birdsong, others beat drums that rumble like dragon wings.

Elves move through the space, some dressed in vibrant silks, others in more subdued hunting leathers. Their eyes follow us as we enter. Their skin varies from deep coppery brown to moonlight pale. Many hairstyles are woven into elaborate braids adorned with tiny metal dragons.

“They did this all for us?” I ask. A feast in Enduvida is always pleasant and beautiful, but nothing I’d ever seen matched the level of ethereal precision in Dragon’s Reach.

“I’d wager this is just a regular day for the elves,” Vann grunts. “Haven’t you realized how much they love to show off? It doesn’t seem to change, no matter what city or village I visit.”

I laugh, and he pulls me closer.

Yes, my body hums.

The servants guide us past a crowd of dancers, and I see a tall throne is raised upon a platform. There, the sovereign of Dragon’s Reach, Selric, is already awaiting .

We walk the length of the hall, the crowd pausing to watch our entrance.

At the bottom of the dais, Vann bows deeply, and I follow his lead.

Selric stands, positioning Lorien in front of him, and begins to speak in old elvish. The family resemblance is clear; they have the same deep skin tone with rounded features in their chin and noses.

Except, Selric appears younger than Theren. Much younger.

Hmm.

I do not catch most of the words, save the names of me and Vann.

A ripple of acknowledgment moves through the hall, and I catch sight of Theren near the throne. He smiles and nods his head. Strange man.

Selric continues, and Vann leans over to say, “He’s welcoming us and thanking us at once.”

Then, Selric raises his goblet.

"Arlet," he declares.

"Arlet," the crowd echoes.

I give a small bow. Glasses are lowered and conversations resume. In no time, the hall fills with the clink of goblets and the murmur of voices.

Selric nods in our direction, effectively dismissing us.

Vann leans over, whispering in my ear. “He thanks you, and says our dragon and rider will by ready by morning.”

My brows raise. “So quickly?”

We were almost at the end of the journey. Compared to how hard the rest of it was, I’m shocked. A part of me feels this is too easy. But then, Vann huffs a laugh, and presses his hand to my lower back.

I suck in a sharp breathe. It is strange to suddenly and consistently feel so aroused. I was only human, I had my moments, but never this long.

Vann leads me toward a table near the edge of the room. He pours wine into two glasses, then holds out one to me. “To Firelocks.”

I smile, and then hold up my own glass. “To Mi Cielo. ”

Vann’s eyes become impossibly warm at the compliment.

It’s a silly action, but the rims of our glasses touch, and I think of our almost kiss. In my mind, I can picture him caging me against a wall, and kissing me for real. I can picture him seeking entrance to my mouth, and then making love to my mouth with his tongue.

What the hell is going on?

Before I can say another word, a low, resonant growl rolls through the air. The hall falls silent.

The sound comes from above.

I tilt my head back and freeze.

Through the open ceiling, dragons circle in the night sky, their massive forms silhouetted against the moonlit clouds. One dives, wings tucked tight, until it halts midair. Its eyes, molten gold, fix on me.

The hall watches as the dragon roars, the sound vibrating in my bones.

Selric smiles faintly, and shouts out another sentence that is rewarded with a cheer.

From the edges of the hall, elves step forward, each holding a torch. They move in unison, raising the flames high before casting them into the massive brazier at the center of the room. The fire leaps skyward, turning an intense, shimmering blue.

A scent I had barely perceived grows stronger.

The dragons above answer with a chorus of roars, their wings cutting through the night as sparks and embers rain down like stars.

Vann's hand finds mine beneath the table, his grip solid and reassuring.

A shadow falls over us, and we look up to find Theren approaching. He carries a goblet of wine and a lazy smile.

“Enjoying the spectacle?” he asks, slipping into the common tongue.

“It’s remarkable,” I reply honestly. “And unexpectedly nice.”

Theren chuckles. “It’s one of the few traditions that hasn’t been twisted by politics. The dragons don’t care for our schemes. They only care for the fire.”

“And you?” Vann asks, leaning against one of the long tables. “Do you care for the schemes?”

Theren’s smile widens. “I prefer the fire.”

I glance at Vann, who arches a brow. “But your brother makes the decisions, no,” Vann says carefully.

“He does,” Theren agrees. “By my permission. And yes, I am the eldest. But the throne never suited me. Too many decisions about grain storage and trade routes. So I left it to Selric.”

Vann’s expression darkens. “That gives him reason to fear you.”

Theren shrugs. “He bends, now and then, to my will. In return, I never consider taking the throne back.”

Vann’s lips twist in a knowing smirk. “He might try to get rid of you some day.”

Theren’s laughter is genuine and loud enough to draw a few curious glances. “I’d appreciate the challenge.”

We are silent a while longer, and then his eyes land on me and stick. He swirls the wine in his goblet. “You know, I can see the magic around you, black like smoke, clinging to your skin like oil.”

I open my mouth, not knowing enough about this Selric to trust him. My eyes flick to Vann.

He steps in. “Our business with the witches is our own.”

Theren nods, and his expression fades. “Of course,” he says, pouring more deep red liquid into our goblets. “Well, the night is young, and the fire demands to be fed. Drink with me.”

This wine is different, it smells of smoke and berries, rich and tantalizing. It’s the scent I smelled in the pools.

I raise my glass as Theren grins.

“To my nephew’s savior,” he says.

We drink, and the warmth of it spreads like molten flame through my chest as the dragons roar above us. Heat pools in my core, and I gasp at the sudden reaction.

Theren grins wickedly. “Welcome to Dragon’s Reach. Lord Vann, watch your wife, and enjoy the fire,” he says, before slithering away. Behind him, two of the elves begin to kiss passionately.